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“Jesus, Dad, what the hell’s going on?” I plunked down on the other end of the couch and toed my shoes off. “You’re scaring the crap out of me.”
“I’m scaring you?” He snorted and got to his feet. A dark scowl pulled at his mouth. “You been acting odd and moody, and I wanna know what’s eating you up.”
No. Not twice in one day. I barely survived the last goddamn intervention. No way was I going through this again.
“I’m really fucking busy,” I snapped. “That’s what’s eating me up. I have school and work to deal with, and I’m trying to avoid flunking out my first semester.”
“Nah, it’s more than that,” he said, eyes hard on me. “I ain’t as dumb as I look. I seen you like this before. I dunno how you’re doing it, but you’re using again!”
“No! That’s bullshit!” I shouted. “Drugs don’t work on me anymore, remember? How ’bout you get off my goddamn back?”
“Don’t lie to me, Angel! I swear to god, I’ll—”
I didn’t remember getting up from the couch, didn’t remember advancing on my dad. But next thing I knew he was backed against the door, with my left hand clenched tight in his shirt and my right cocked back in a fist.
My breath spasmed in my chest. Memory swept through me of another confrontation almost three years ago, back when we still lived in the old, crappy house with the roaches and leaky roof and duct-taped windows. My dad had found a bottle of Vicodin in my sock drawer and, even though I’d been drinking and smoking pot since I was seventeen, he decided it was time to do more than just yell at me. This time he was going to lay down the law and set me straight. But I was out with Randy when my dad found the pills, and I didn’t come home for another four hours. That gave Dad plenty of time to work up a good head of steam, along with ample opportunity to plow through a six-pack of beer and half a bottle of Old Crow. The instant I walked in he started yelling at me about how I was a piece of shit and worthless and all that crap. We screamed at each other for a minute or so, then I must’ve said the wrong thing because he backed me up against the door and smacked me so hard I couldn’t see out of my left eye for three days.
It was the first time he’d ever truly scared me.
And now . . .
Dad’s eyes were wide and full of fear. Nausea rose in my throat, and I stumbled back with a gasp. “I’m sorry. Oh god, Dad. I’m sorry.”
For a spindly guy pushing fifty he was quick. He backpedaled into the kitchen, grabb
ed a cast-iron skillet off the stove and brandished it in front of him with both hands. “Stay the hell where you are,” he said, voice shaking.
“Dad.” The word choked out. He knew what the monster in me was capable of doing. What monsters like me had done to loved ones in the past. This was different, but how was he supposed to know that? “Dad, I—I’m sorry.”
He lowered the skillet but didn’t set it down. The fear in his eyes shifted to wariness.
“Look, I had the crappiest day ever, and—” I shoved my hands through my hair. “Shit. That’s no excuse. I screwed up.”
The skillet clanged onto the counter, and he had me wrapped in a hug before I could blink. “Yeah, Angelkins, but I shouldn’t’ve accused you like that.” His arms had a wiry, gentle strength as he held me against him. He’d filled out a bit since he stopped drinking and was definitely healthier. I could have pulled free if I’d wanted to, but I didn’t.
“I got no proof or nuthin,” he went on, voice thick, “and I just been worried ’cause you ain’t been acting like my Angel. Maybe it’s your medical condition. I dunno what’s going on, but whatever it is I want you to know I love you and I’ll help you any way I can.”
Guilt dragged claws through me as I leaned into him. “Thanks,” I croaked out and tried to blink away tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” A lie. I knew what made me react without thinking, and it scared me senseless.
“It’s gonna be okay, baby.” A tremble went through him as he held me, then he pulled away and offered me a teary smile. “Hang on. I know you gotta get ready for the movie, but I got two things that might put a smile back on that pretty face.”
I dragged a hand under my nose as he yanked open the coat closet door. He reached all the way to the back then straightened with a pair of rain boots in his hand. Pink rain boots. The brightest eye-searing pink I’d ever seen in my life. On top of that, they were bedazzled and painted with silver glitter in swirls so distracting I almost didn’t see the fake fur trim around the top. At least I assumed it was fake. If not, somewhere there was a purple cheetah missing part of its hide. “I—”
“Before you say anything,” Dad began, “you need to know I got these on a crazy whim thinking you’d like ’em, and then realized they might be a little much. But that ain’t the part that’s gonna make you smile.”
“Oh?” I said faintly. A little much? There was fake fur on the rain boots.
Fake fur. On rain boots.
“See, I bought ’em from Tammy’s booth at the Farmer’s Market this morning.” He chuckled as my eyes narrowed. The loud and flamboyant Tammy Elwood was a bartender down at Kaster’s, and my dad had been dating her since a bit before I left for New York. To say that me and her had never clicked was like saying that the carpets on the Titanic got a little damp. “Then, I overheard her gossipy ass telling Maylene from the diner that you was all creepy weird for working with dead folk. Broke up with her then and there.”
“But Dad, y’all were getting along so—”
“It’s been coming for a while now, what with her whining about how I ain’t asked her to move in with me and dropping hints like how great it’d be to honeymoon in Cabo.” He cracked a grin at my shudder. “This morning was the last straw on this camel’s back. ’Sides, I’m the only one who gets to say how creepy weird you are.”
“Damn straight.” I smiled and kissed his cheek.
“Anyway, I figure maybe next time it rains you can have fun stomping these ugly-ass things through the mud.”
